


Stitches

by ThinkingCAPSLOCK



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Hivebent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-05
Updated: 2012-04-05
Packaged: 2017-11-03 01:48:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThinkingCAPSLOCK/pseuds/ThinkingCAPSLOCK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every stitch well placed, well intentioned, and with purpose. Every detail exactly as it was intended to be. The only thing left to do was transport the dress to its commissioner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stitches

The machine made a soft click, click, sliding the fabric from front to back as the thin white thread made its pattern along the hem of the dress. It tied together and pushed the fabric sides together, making the two pieces merge together into one. Slender, grey fingers guided the white, a gentle rhythm of movement and clicking setting the pace of the sewing. 

Kanaya kept steady, dark eyes on the pale fabric, shifting her fingers away from the needle as it came down close to her nails. The faint hum in the mechanics barely phased her, although her pace was a bit more picked up than usual. A faint smile curled across her jade lips. Ivory fangs almost shone through. A few backstitches later, and the side of the dress was completed.

Scissors graced her hand, snipping the loose threads from the dress as the dress is freed. In her dainty, long hands, Kanaya lifted the white garment from its spot back to her dress figure, fitting it back over the dress form. The harness holding up the faint gossamer like wings fluttered as she zipped the back. Their faint blue matched the deep cerulean symbol emblazoned on the front.

For a moment, she stared at her creation in silent praise. Her shoulders shifted and her back straightened, giving a smile. She smoothed out a wrinkle in the fabric, looking for any sort of flaw. But from what her eyes could see, there did not seem to hold any problems with the structure itself. Every stitch well placed, well intentioned, and with purpose. Every detail exactly as it was intended to be.

The only thing left to do was transport the dress to its commissioner. Her client player. With a slightly fidgeting hand, her nervousness showing, she stored the dress in her sylladex. It was done. Step one completed. A short breath passed between her lips, a faint hissing formed as she exhaled behind her teeth. 

It was perfect. This dress would certainly get the message across. The time and dedication put into making this simple artifact. At the expense of playing this game, no less. A masterpiece. Above and beyond what any moirail would have to do. 

Flipping over the bit of her sylladex that displayed the code, she jotted it down on her advanced husktop computer. A key appeared almost immediately afterwards, and she replaced the item back to the dress form. 

By the time she returned to her computer, her client was there on Trollian. She opened a conversation, perhaps a bit too willingly. The mother grub sprite floated into the room, hovering around the dress, chuttering in approval.

\--- grimAuxiliatrix has begun trolling arachnidsGrip ---

GA: I Have Produced The Garment You Desired  
GA: Though I Must Again Ask After Your Intentions Of It  
GA: I Am Still Confused As To The Motive Of Wearing A Gaudy Dress Like This One  
GA: Although I Must Admit The Workmanship Is Quite High Quality  
AG: Yaaaaaaaawn.  
AG: Get to the point!  
AG: Shoot me the code already.  
GA: Very Well  
GA: P1xi3Z  
AG: Finally.  
AG: Good going fussyfangs!  
GA: Might I Ask Why You Desire To Dress Like A Fairy

\--- arachnidsGrip has ceased trolling grimAuxiliatrix ---

GA: I Guess Not

\--- grimAuxiliatrix has ceased trolling arachnidsGrip ---

She stared at the screen, switching to the game menu, where Vriska switched her clothes for the ones that Kanaya had made. Again, the corners of her jade lips curled up, seeing Vriska spin and twirl on the screen. It was a perfect fit. Even her mother grub sprite gave a pat of approval. Something in her chest swelled up, beating a little harder than it had before. Beating a little bit redder than before.

A hustle of noise outside made Kanaya again alert to her surroundings. With a brief pause, enough time to sigh, she shuffled away from the husktop to the opening. It did appear that her house was, yet again, under siege from the little minions that counted as the villains in this game. Strange, multicoloured enemies littered the ground, nipping at the base of the tower. A hand shifted her bangs to the side, the effort of looking down ruining their perfect arrangement. 

Chainsaw in hand, she again made her way outside. Snarls and spit greeted her, but she wasted no time in swinging her weapon. A bath of crimson littered the ground, separating head from body. Again, she swung, arm muscles tightening as legs stretched in stance, dodging both blows and blood. It wouldn't serve to get her dress tarnished. Pinks and purples fluttered around her feet, as deep crimson filled the field. 

With a quick glance she surveyed the damage, but it seemed that for now, the swarm had abated. A quick collection of grist ensued, though this time there had not been quite enough to launch her into the next level. With a small, contented sigh, she turned back, facing the way she had come earlier. Vriska was sure to be wearing the dress by now. Certain to be enjoying it. Further thoughts seemed too egotistical, too self centered to be relevant. Instead, she focused on climbing the stairs back to her respiteblock.

It seemed to take forever, although her pace was quickened by her anxious anticipation. The mother grub sprite hovered silently still, allowing Kanaya room past when she went to change from the pinks and purples to her green dress. There was no reason not to be dressed to the nines. Or, in this case, the eights.

A small smile spread across her lips as something in her chest sputtered again. She opened the viewer again. Vriska lay on her floor, dreaming, perhaps, and dressed in the outfit. Her chest rose and fell slightly, and the faint smirk sat spread along her features. Arrogant? Perhaps. But also exactly the troll who Kanaya had grown to know so well.

Except for what on earth her plan was. A small furrow formed in her brow, as she narrowed her eyelids to focus in. At least Vriska's room was somewhat cleaner than it had been previously, but what was going on? What motivation was there to get dressed up, and then take a nap? 

A frightening crash shook through her ears, rattling her out of a stupor of glares and glances. Kanaya spun on the spot, readying her chainsaw. However, there was no damage done, no debris upon her floor. Again discarding the weapon, she turned a heasitant eye back towards the screen. It seemed the commotion had happened there, instead of her own premise. That was the flaw with projected screens, everything seemed much more present than it already was.

It seemed Tavros had joined her, and Vriska had most certainly woken up. Was Tavros alright? Kanaya leaned in a bit again, eyes narrowing. Why was he not moving? And what was...

Vriska drew the brown blooded troll closer. Kanaya felt everything go still. There was no noise. Something sank deep, deep down into her core, as the two got closer, and closer, until there was no distance whatsoever between them.

Time froze. Her mouth sank open. She dared not breath. And she couldn't look away. They were right there, and so close, and she was watching on a screen. As Vriska wore the outfit Kanaya had so painstakingly made, so carefully infused with her feelings and emotions, and none of it mattered. Not a single intention had crossed through with the moving of the code.

Something broke inside her, and she tore her eyes away. Tears poured out her eyes, and despite her protests and gasps, a sob bubbled out of her lips. Mother grub laid a hand gently on her shoulder, white arm caressing. But it did not matter. Her cheeks were hot and the tears were hot and no matter how often she rubbed her face, they did not stop. 

The warmth travelled from her face to her chest, where it swelled and expanded with each shuddering breath. Why wasn't her work appreciated? Why had she been so stupid to have been used like a moron? It wasn't fair. She was stuck in this damned pale quadrant and she didn't want to be, and _why_ hadn't she been brave enough to say something?

Tearing away from the grubsprite, she stormed to the dressform. She grabbed the dress, nails biting into the white fabric as she dragged the form forwards. With a swift movement and small grunt, she hefted the entire thing out the window. In a few seconds, she was greeted with a resounding thud. 

The warmth and rage poured out of her, and again, she felt herself sink down, down onto the floor. Her face pressed into her knees and green fabric, she let out another small sob, as one hand traced the hem of her skirt, stitch by stitch.


End file.
